


Five

by Aintzane411



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Langst, Self-Harm, just lots of sad, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 07:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10826931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aintzane411/pseuds/Aintzane411
Summary: He knew it was bad. He knew he was fucked up. He couldn't let that stop him, though.





	Five

He knew it was bad.

Well, okay, he knew that everyone  _ told _ him it was bad.

His own thoughts on the matter? A little more vague. Sure, it probably wasn’t the best idea to drag the razor blade across his wrist, but what were the other options? Sit and stare at the wall? Try to distract himself until he was tired enough to fall asleep?  _ Talk to someone?! _

Lance shuddered at the thought. He glanced down at his arm, where five, shiny, new cuts were. If they could really be called cuts. More like scratches, really. Scratches that were just barely deep enough to draw blood. He was out of practice. It had been a while since he last took blade to skin.

Five was enough for tonight. Just enough to take the edge off and get him to stop crying every twenty minutes. He set the razor to the side and moved to lay on his stomach on his bed, arms out in front of him. He liked to look at the blood before cleaning up. The bright red drops that beaded on his skin looked so pretty. He hated to wipe it all up without appreciating it first.

Lance was fucked up. He knew it. He’d known it for a long time. Back home, he never really got a chance to get any professional help, so he did what he could. Unfortunately, “what he could” included prying open shaving razors and taking apart pencil sharpeners.

He was good at hiding it. No one ever questioned his trademark jacket, and he just conditioned himself to withstand the heat and the sweating. On the rare occasions someone asked, he’d brush them off with a comment about always being cold. They would always buy it.

Hunk found out once, at the Garrison. It was hard to hide when you have a roommate, and one night Lance’s sleeves slipped up while he slept. Hunk was the first to wake in the morning, and he brought up the marks later in the day. Lance promised that he had stopped.

Of course, that was a blatant lie, but Hunk didn’t need to know that. Especially now that any time Lance was quieter than normal, he saw the worried looks that Hunk gave him. If he knew, it would only get worse. So Lance stayed quiet.

He stayed quiet when they got their new teammate, Pidge. He stayed quiet as they failed simulator after simulator. He stayed quiet when they were dragged into space. He stayed quiet.

That was how he wanted it. No one had to know. It left him free to do as he pleased, and a few times a week he would pull out the razor he had nicked from Hunk’s toolbox and let it dance along his skin.

Small cuts. Always small. There’s no emergency room in space, of course. But they were just enough. Five cuts, admire the blood, clean up. No harm, no foul.

He knew it was bad, but more in the same way that someone knows the universe is big. You can never quite understand it.

**Author's Note:**

> hi yes once again im channeling my own shit
> 
> i like how you can tell when im havnig a Bad Time by the vent fics i write


End file.
